


you run in my veins

by jackassai



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Romance, jack isnt good with emotions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6642622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackassai/pseuds/jackassai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Timothy and their lives through the years. The good, the bad, and everything in between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. pull out your tongue, jack

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of my Jackothy fics that are tied together, leading up to a large fic to be posted later on. Chapters vary in length.

“I love you,” the words come out before Jack has a chance to understand his own thought process.

He freezes against Timothy’s back, hands sporadically clenching at the dawning realization and horror of his admission. The thought lodged in his head, now a fist-sized knot in his throat that he swallows rapidly around, trying to force it back. But the damage has been done and he can barely fucking breathe – too many negative connotations applied to those three words.

Jack feels his blood turn to sluggish ice in his veins. He needs to move – let go. Put distance between himself and the object of his heart’s desire. Nothing good comes from that. Nothing – nothing does but despair.

Desperation claws at his chest, the feeling spreading numbness along his ribs. It was such a stupid slip-up that he- he-

Timothy presses back against him so easily, hand reaching back to wrap around the back of Jack’s neck and pull him closer, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Jack doesn’t dare breathe as Timothy so goddamn easily relaxes fully against him, cuddling backwards as much as he can.

“I love you too, Jack,” his voice is so light yet heavy with warmth, affection.

Jack burns with envious jealousy at how easily the words slip from his mouth. How easily Timothy just- just accepts the burden of attachment and affection.

He buries his face against Timothy’s neck and tries to remember to breathe, soaking in his double’s scent with each gasping breath.

Timothy doesn’t mention the wetness he feels from Jack’s eyes. Jack doesn’t share the pain-joy-happy-despair he feels at the spoken words.


	2. do you believe what he says to you?

One time, Jack asked Timothy, “How can you just accept things so easily?”

Timothy replied back, “Who says I do?”

It had left Jack speechless; the look on Timothy’s face accompanied by the careful, slow words. He had dismissed the double not longer after that, watching silently as Timothy gathered his ECHO comm with his newest mission before slipping out of the door. Jack noted that he hadn’t looked back once the entire time.

Somedays, Jack remembers the words Timothy had said, and it burns a hole in his chest, filling his lungs with acrid smoke that leaves breathing difficult. The words haunt him, whispering to his insecurities in the darkest time of the nights when he lay curled around Timothy’s back, legs tangled together.

Those sleepless nights, when the searing pain of betrayal rears its ugly head, spitting at him all the paranoid thoughts he had. When holding Timothy feels like holding the inevitable anguish he’ll feel when the day comes that Timothy, too, would betray him. Leave him like all of the rest.

It’s those nights when he damn near chokes on the bile and acid in his throat. The feeling of hands gripping his neck tightly, squeezing, forcing him to gasp for air, hands itching to claw the flesh from his neck.

He remembers Timothy’s words and Jack wonders how many times Timothy has swallowed back protest and gone with what Jack demanded.

Would he even be here? Be with Jack?

The thought makes his stomach turn, waves of nausea curling sickly in his body, in his chest. He knows he can’t do this. Can’t sit by and just wait – wait until Timothy turns on him, leaves him. It’s better to cut ties now then suffer again. Better to burn the bridges before than have it crumble under him.

He doesn’t even notice he’s trembling, shaking, with hands clutching Timothy close. Doesn’t have a clue until Timothy wiggles in his grasp, and then Jack lets go as if he’s burned, eyes wide, afraid.

But Timothy just turns towards him and props himself up on his elbow, silently staring down at him in the dim lighting – Jack can barely make out Timothy’s face, but he can feel the stare on his skin.

“Jack,” he breathes out slowly, voice low as if Jack’s a skittish animal ready to bolt. Or bite. There’s no hesitation in his hand, though, when he reaches out and pushes his fingers through Jack’s hair slowly, dragging blunt nails over his scalp. “You’re overthinking again.”

Jack hate-loves that Timothy can read him so easily. He swallows thickly, almost chokes on saliva, and lets his eyes flutter shut. A tremor shakes his entire body. He yearns to bite out a retort at Timothy. To push him away, save his heart while he can. Deal with the kid’s broken, hurt look now than see what cruelties await him. It’s for the best. The best for Jack’s heart, his sanity.

He doesn’t do anything of the sort. Maybe he’s stupid like that.

Timothy’s lips against his forehead make him gasp loudly, body tensed at the sudden, light contact. But Timothy doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t let him jerk his head away, the hand in his hair keeping him in place. He’s wearing his mask, but Timothy’s lips feel like they’re pressed against his disfigured skin, at the arch of the branding. It hurts as much as it soothes him.

“C'mon, Jack, let me in,” Timothy keeps his voice soft, presses their foreheads together, and waits.

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t even consider letting Timothy get closer than he already is. It’s a bad, bad, terrible idea that will only hurt him in the long wrong.

Jack finds himself pressing their bodies together again, opening his eyes to stare at Timothy’s, then down to his lips. A soft, small smile that makes Jack melt brightens Timothy’s face.

He shouldn’t, but he does. Jack angles his head and presses their lips together, swallowing the happy noises that Timothy gives him.

Jack doesn’t wonder if Timothy is pretending to accept it. Not right now. They both know the issue will come again, but Timothy has gotten good at taming the beast that haunts Jack at night.


	3. breathe the lie, timothy

“What did you say?” Timothy asks, staring with eyes wide and cautiously hopeful at Jack.

Jack looks at him like he’s grown another head, eyebrow arched and lip curled back, showing just a flash of teeth. He seems to be waiting for Timothy to answer the previous question, but Timothy can’t do that, honestly. Not when his heart is lodged in his fucking throat, beating so fast he feels the world sway dangerously below his feet.

There’s a beat of silence between them before Jack sighs heavily, rolling his eyes like it’s some great difficulty to repeat his inquiry, “I asked where you thought you were going, Timtam.”

That’s not what he said the first time, but it’s close enough that Timothy has to swallow around the surge of emotions threatening to overtake his mind.

Jack had called him Timothy. Timothy. Not ‘Jack.’ Not 'Other Jack’ or 'Other me.’ He had honestly called Timothy by his name.

He’s never done that before.

Timothy breathes in shakily, throat spasming as he holds back a choked sob, tears pooling in his eyes. The bewildered look Jack gives him doesn’t help. The way he looks so confused at why Timothy would be crying like he hadn’t just used Timothy’s name for the first time since he started being Jack’s body double.

He hates how easily it seems for Jack to switch from calling him like he’s a clone of Jack, to calling him by his goddamn name. Like flipping a switch. One to the other without a hitch. Even when they were just fucking he had been 'Jack’ up until now. Up until he slid from the bed as was the norm, pulling his clothing together to leave the room.

Now Jack wants him to stay? Now Jack calls him by his actual name?

Anger churns low in his gut, colliding with the hopeful joy that tries to blossom, fluttering like the heart of a baby bird – delicate, fragile. Easily snuffed out by the wrong word, wrong action from Jack. The anger lurks like a predator, the joy cowering under it, ready to be devoured by gnashing teeth.

How could he do this so easily? Like it wasn’t a big deal? Like he hasn’t been forcing a different identity on Timothy for months now?

“Look, you going to stand around crying like that, or are you going to get your hot ass back in bed and sleep?” Jack has the audacity to sound peeved that Timothy’s standing there naked, clothes in his arms.

He wants to lash back, but at the same time, he wants to crawl back to Jack, seek safety in his arms. Feel him petting, soothing his worries and anxieties down with cooing words and pet names.

Timothy drops the clothes and sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, ignoring the way Jack grins at him, waggling his eyebrows. When he takes too long, Jack wraps his arm around Timothy’s waist and tugs him, pulling him down and back against Jack’s chest.

A kiss is pressed against his shoulder and Timothy whines at the feeling. Jack shushes him gently, “Why all the waterworks, Tim? C'mon, hush up. Jackie’s got you, kitten.”

Timothy wants to believe it desperately. He wants to hide in Jack’s arms and listen to his voice call him by his name, treat him as Timothy – not as a clone.

He has no idea if Jack will continue to call him by his name in the future or not, but he clings desperately to it, for now, letting it spread warmth through his chest. It’s not perfect, but it’s something. It’s a reminder of who he really is and he’ll clutch it to his chest for now.


	4. he can see through you, you’re the same

Timothy lets out a strained noise as Jack flops over top of his back, squishing him against the couch cushions he had been resting on, reading a book. 

He tries to take a peek over his shoulder, but Jack makes a negative sound and pushes against his face until he looks back around. Which, yeah, it’s a bit strange. Strange enough for him to be curious.

“Jack what are you-”

He’s interrupted again by Jack, this time by him pressing his face against Timothy’s bare back. The confusion and curiosity grows until he realises- oh. That’s not the feeling of Jack’s mask pressed against him.

Jack doesn’t have his mask on. That is definitely worth worrying about – he never takes it off anymore since he had it fitted. Which probably wasn’t healthy for the brand, honestly, but…

Yeah, actually, the skin feels pretty hot against his back, warmer than the rest of his face. He makes a worried sound in the back of his throat, “Have you been putting the cream on it the doctor told you to?”

“Been too busy,” is the muffled reply against his skin. Jack’s arms cup his ribs and chapped lips press a kiss against his spine. “Should be fine as long as I leave off the mask for a while. So, y'know, no looking.”

Timothy nearly rolls his eyes, but he’s almost afraid that Jack would notice that somehow. He settles for a vague noise of confirmation then, looking back to his book instead.

They stay like that for – Timothy’s not sure how long, actually, but long enough for him to finish a couple more chapters of the novel before Jack starts stirring again. Respectfully, he keeps his eyes to the book as he hears the sound of Jack leaving the room. His curiosity is peaked then, but he doesn’t let it draw his attention away.

(Besides, he knows what the brand looks like. There’s no point in invading Jack’s privacy.)

He doesn’t have to wait long before he hears Jack returning to the couch. This time, he’s surprised when Jack takes a knee beside the couch, fingers hooking under his chin to draw his head towards Jack’s – the mask now in place again. There’s a… careful look on his face that makes Timothy’s brow draw together in worry. Seeing the look, Jack puts on a grin that looks completely fake.

It’s the tone in Jack’s voice that tells Timothy what’s going on, “Thanks, kitten.” It sounds almost heavy, thick with some emotion Jack doesn’t know how to express.

Timothy’s sure it’s important, but Jack doesn’t let him dwell on it. The next moment, Jack’s leaning down and pressing his lips against Timothy’s in a short, but pleasant, kiss that leaves him smiling. His heart aches for Jack, for the fragility that he doesn’t like to expose.

But he does with Timothy. Somewhat.

And that’s really enough, isn’t it?


	5. promise me we’ll be alright

Wasn’t your life supposed to flash before your eyes? Or were you supposed to see a white light?

Whoever said that is full of shit, Timothy thinks with a grimace, pain racking his body with each gasping breath he took. All he could think about was that he didn’t want to go – he wasn’t ready to go. Because… _Because_ …

Timothy shuts his eyes, letting his head thump back against the metal wall behind him, sticky blood messing up his hair. And wasn’t that hilarious? Thinking about how pissed Jack was going to be when he saw Timothy’s hair. When he saw all the blood staining his clothes, messing up the hallway.

His lip curls into a toothy, hysterical grin. Good. Let the bastard have a conniption about his precious body being a mess.

Not like Timothy was going to be around to get fussed at for it. Not for much longer, anyway.

“Hey, hey! Talk to me, kiddo, what’s going on?” The communicator crackles to life, but Timothy ignores it. Instead, he focuses down at his hands, pressed against his abdomen and slick with red, red blood, pouring from his wounds.

He wonders how much of a tantrum Jack’s going to throw when they find his body.

This is so not a heroic looking death – there’s not even any bad guy bodies around. It’s just him. Just him in his own blood, struggling to stay conscious. Ragged, broken, slouched against a wall in a puddle of his own blood. It’s not a death worthy of Handsome Jack, but maybe for Timothy Lawrence.

And he’s so mad because stories promised some important realisation at the end of life. Or some promised land opening up with shining white lights. Something. Anything.

What does Timothy get?

Thoughts of his boss – lover? – and how much of a fit he’s going to throw over this. Timothy feels like cackling at his mind, but he doesn’t think he can get enough air in his lungs to do that. Instead, he settles for a wet, gurgling sound, and that’ll have to do.

Vaguely, he can hear Jack’s voice yelling on the comm, directing people around him for- for something. It kind of sucks, really, that this is how he’s dying. That this is what his life was reduced to – revolving around Jack.

Jack. Jack. _Jack_.

…

That’s- Timothy swallows heavily, prying his eyes open. Even dying and his thoughts are on Jack and just. Just how Jack like he’s going to be. Because he has to be Jack like, right? It’s- Oh. Oh god. Timothy feels faint for a very different reason than the blood loss and possible concussion.

Here he is dying, and his thoughts are on Jack. His thoughts are on the yelling he’ll do and the threats he’ll make. Of the people he’ll airlock. Of the hell path he’ll burn through Helios to find the assassins that had mistaken Timothy for Jack.

(Wasn’t that the entire reason he was a double in the first place? To protect Jack’s life with is?)

“H- hey… boss.” Timothy rasps, gurgles – whatever. It gets Jack’s attention because he’s yelling at Timothy to stay silent, that they’ll be there soon. “So-sorry. Can’t. Wait. Here’s ssomethin’ funny-”

He coughs a bit, trying to get enough air back into his lungs to finish what he’s saying. The realisation burns in his chest, or maybe that’s his lungs. It’s so stupid, but he guesses that’s just how his life goes. Isn’t it?

Might as well make a fool of himself one last time.

His eyesight blurs worse. Everything feels so sluggish, he’s not even sure if he’s getting the words out when he admits, “Thi-think I, uh, love you.”

Maybe he does, because Jack’s oddly quiet. He’d think the comm was broken if he didn’t still hear other noises.

Closing his eyes, he tries to picture the look of shock that must be on Jack’s face. Or maybe he’d be furious at the admission? Not that it really matters.

Timothy closes his eyes and grins.

What an asshole.

–

Waking up wasn’t something he had planned to do. Certainly not in a hospital bed, surrounded by, uh, kitten plushies.

Definitely not with Handsome Jack sleeping in an uncomfortable looking chair beside the bed, gripping Timothy’s hand tightly.


	6. his heart stumbles on things he doesn’t know

“Hey,” he rasps softly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, a soft smile on his lips.

Jack swallows heavily, staring at Timothy’s face, at the smile, at how… gentle he looks at Jack. The open emotions on his face, influenced by the sleepiness still fogging his mind. It’s-

Well, Jack thinks as he finds himself smiling back at Timothy’s adorable look, it’s contagious, that’s for sure.

“Hey yourself, buttercup,” The amusement in his voice makes Timothy squint confusedly at him and _fuck_ it’s not fair how cute he is.

He has Jack’s face. How can he look so cute with _**Jack’s**_ face? 

Jack can’t even look cute with his face. The fact that Timothy can pull all of these endearing looks should be physically impossible.

It’s so unfair. Jack scowls a little bit before he can stop himself, and suddenly Timothy’s a lot more awake and a lot more cautious. Jack wants to slap himself when his double sits up straighter on the couch. Fuck. He can even see the way Timothy’s eyes get bigger, more scared of- of Jack. Of his temper.

Timothy looks like he’s about to question him, and Jack can’t - wont - let him do that. Won’t let him get the wrong idea about Jack’s mood. Or start trying to apologise for something he didn’t do. 

The first thing he can think of is, “You snore." He winces. Yeah, smooth, Jack. Now Timothy’s pouting at him. Still with that hesitant look, but now it’s got this whole sad tint to it.

Goddamnit. He’s not- he’s not good with these things anymore. Deep emotions besides anger. Maybe once upon a time, but now he just flounders.

That and makes a complete idiot of himself trying anymore.

Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. 

It’s not been five minutes since Timothy woke up and Jack’s already made a fool of himself. Might as well lean over and kiss him silly as well. Swallow up the surprised - happy - sound Timothy makes and enjoy the way he leans eagerly into the affection.

The stupidly shocked-amazed-joyful look on Timothy’s face when he pulls away again is most _definitely_ worth being an idiot sometimes.

Jack’s in deep and he knows it. He tries not to think about all the ways this could go so wrong. Because for right now, it’s going great.


	7. reminds him how it all went wrong

Timothy wakes slowly to the sound of Jack in the distance, voice raised and tainted with anger. It takes his sleep addled mind and admittedly long time to put together that if Jack’s in another room, then he’s not in bed next to him, so groping around for his human pillow isn’t doing anything to help.

Blearily he glances at the clock on the nightstand and carefully puts the numbers together in his head. What was Jack doing up at 3:14 in the morning?

Actually, what was _anyone_ doing up at this time?

Groaning, Timothy throws his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing at the aches and twinges of pain in various parts of his body. (He makes a mental note to complain at Jack about his biting habit later.) After stretching his arms over his head, he stands slowly to his feet and scrubs his hands through his hair.

Still, he can hear Jack yelling in another part of the penthouse, voice loud enough to hear, but low enough he can’t actually pick out words. By now, Timothy understands that this was Jack _trying_ to be considerate.

It’s almost touching. Might be a bit more touching if he hadn’t still been woken up. Whatever was going on, it had to be important.

Not important enough for pants, though. Timothy makes his way out of the bedroom wearing nothing and scratching idly at his crotch, guided less by sight and more by the sound of Jack’s voice. Still trying to decide how important it was based on the tone of Jack’s voice and the words he caught every now and then.

His feet take him to the living room eventually, and he enters with a jaw cracking yawn, barely noticing as Jack falls silent. Tim scrubs at his face and gives Jack a small smile, which Jack returns with high amusement. It takes Timothy a very embarrassingly long time to realise that no, no Jack wasn’t on his ECHOcomm like Tim had thought he was. He was actually yelling at someone.

Or. Two someones, actually.

“Well,” Nisha _purrs_ , blatantly looking Timothy’s naked body up and down with a look Timothy was far too used to seeing on Jack’s face, “that would explain why the pretty boy wasn’t picking up his comm. When I told you to go fuck yourself, I didn’t think you’d take it quite so literally.”

Timothy squeaks loudly, belatedly covering his crotch with his hands. His face has to be a red as a tomato with how hot he feels - oh god. God why. Why him?

What did he do to deserve this?

Even Wilhelm is standing there was something akin to shock on his face, jaw slack and eye wide.

This was so not how he wanted to come out to the rest of the team that he was hooking up with their boss. Actually - scratch that. He had never wanted it to come out.

Too fucking late for that.

“I-I-I’m, uh. Uhhhhhhhjjjjjaaaack?” Timothy turns his wide, embarrassed stare on Jack who still hasn’t said a thing. That… is actually rather frightening, if Timothy’s being honest. Jack was loud, brash, never so quiet. Unless he was plotting and seething and that just. “I- sorry?”

He squeaks again when Jack approaches him slowly with a blank look on his face. Over Jack’s shoulder, Nisha gives him a wide grin and actually winks at him.

Timothy notes that neither of them make any movements to leave him to his death in peace.

Traitors.

Jack stands in front of him, blocking the view of Timothy’s naked body, and arches an eyebrow at him. He squirms under Jack’s scrutiny, trying to decide if he should try and run, or accept his fate. 

Which would be better in the long run? Running for his life, or dying naked as the day he was born?

He doesn’t get a chance to decide that, because the next thing he knows, Jack’s hands are on him, dragging him closer against Jack’s body. Timothy has to release his cover of his crotch to grab at Jack to keep from falling and he squeaks - again, damnit! - at the situation he’s found himself in. Jack’s face buried against his bruised neck, lips pressing teasingly against him.

“Didn’t know you were into people watchin’, Timmy.” Jack growls softly and Tim feels teeth against his neck, biting down over the marks he left just hours earlier, “Don’t think I wanna share ya, though. Too bad.”

Timothy closes his eyes at the flush of arousal that hits his body at Jack’s low, possessive tone. Also because Nisha is making suggestive looks at him and he really just. Cannot handle this. At all.

He explains softly, voice cracking, “I didn’t know you had company.” 

Jack just laughs at his embarrassment and- yeah. Jack just slapped his ass. Blatantly. Nisha is laughing at him and Wilhelm looks amused too.

Why do these things happen to him? He’d rather be fighting badass kraggon than be here right now.

Timothy hides his face against Jack’s shoulder and whines as Jack laughs and laughs and laughs at him.

Fuck his life. Seriously.


	8. these here are my desires

Early morning is his favourite time, Timothy thinks. When it’s far too early to be working, but early enough he’s awake before Jack. For the CEO of such an impressive company, Jack sure hated mornings probably as much as he hated black coffee.

(Seriously, how did Jack manage to keep his job for so long? He’s terrible in the mornings.)

Still, mornings are his favourite time of the day. All for these few, quiet moments alone in the silence of the room, listening to the light breathing of Jack sleeping – occasionally snoring – pressed against Timothy. Amusingly, Jack tended to favour being the little spoon, or sleeping on Timothy’s chest like he is now. 

He feels a smile tug at his face, and he has to bite his bottom lip to keep from giggling at the idea. Big, bad, murderous Jack was so clingy in bed. It was kind of amusing and, somehow, really… cute.

Jack couldn’t sleep unless Timothy was in bed with him. The nights Timothy was away, he knew Jack didn’t sleep well and, well, wouldn’t let him sleep, either. Long nights on comms together and all that.

So nights, and more importantly mornings, like these? Timothy cherished them while he could. While Jack was slumbering peacefully, curled around Timothy like a lifeline.

Timothy stills when Jack shifts slightly, mumbling some low nonsense that Timothy doesn’t pay much attention to. He can feel the way Jack moves gently and tenses up, muscles straining as he carefully stretches out from being curled up like he was. The irritated look on his face when he tilts his head up and squints at Timothy is ruined by the the way his hair is messed up from sleep, and the dried tracks of saliva over his chin where he drooled all over Timothy in his sleep.

“Wassa time?” Jack mumbles as he presses his face back against Timothy’s chest, mouthing his warm skin with a grunt.

Shivering at the sensation, Timothy raises his hand up and drags his blunt finger nails over Jack’s head, smiling at the way he groans and pushes into the petting. Softly, he answers, “Not time to get up. You can sleep more, handsome.”

“Oh,” the sigh is happy, the way he presses kisses over Timothy’s chest more so. For a few minutes, he thinks that Jack might want to have a morning fuck, but Jack settles soon enough with his head on Timothy’s chest, over his heart. “S'nice,” he mumbles thickly, petting Tim’s chest, “Can hear ya heart. Good pillow. Good boy.”

Timothy’s torn between amusement at being pat with the affection you’d give a dog, and wanting to wrap his arms around Jack and never let him go.

Mornings ere easier for Jack to say things, too. Say things he couldn’t – or wouldn’t – otherwise. It wasn’t that Timothy didn’t know, of course, but hearing those little comments could make his day so much better when Jack let them go.

Maybe it was because the filter from his brain to his mouth wasn’t awake yet like the rest of Jack wasn’t. Whatever it was, Timothy could learn more about Jack in the morning than he could in a week. Specifically, he could overhear things like… like.

He flushes slightly, smiling again. Like Jack enjoying using him as a pillow because he could hear his heart beat.

It was something so- domestic. It was so damned domestic in a way he couldn’t normally equate to Jack being like when he was awake. Maybe he was a little saddened that Jack couldn’t be like this normally, but, really? He wouldn’t change it for the world.

It made mornings oh so special, after all.

Jack grunts a few minutes later, “Stoppit. Heart’s beatin’ faster now. Gonna keep me awake, pumpkin. M'not gunna be happy with you.”

Timothy huffs out a silent laugh and continues to pet Jack’s hair carefully, “Sorry. Go on back to sleep. I’ll wake you up when you need to be up.”

“Kay. Love ya.”

His eyes widen slightly at how easily Jack exhales the confession, and then they soften at the light snoring coming from him. Oh, Jack… “Love you too.”

Of course, Jack wouldn’t remember it later on. It would continue to be something secret and special. Something just for Timothy.

Timothy loves mornings, really he does, but he loves his boyfriend a lot more.


	9. you know your desires and his

“Tim. Tiiiiim. Timmy, baby, pumpkin, sugartits. Come _ooooon_ ,” Jack whines loudly at him, kneeling in front of the doppelganger. He’s got his hands clasped in front of him and is doing his best to give Timothy sad, pathetic eyes.

Unfortunately for him, Timothy is immune to such looks. All it gets Jack is a scowl.

“Seriously, I’m not going in to work for you again! You’re a big boy, Jack, doing your actual job isn’t going to kill you.” 

“Says you. You don’t have to deal with those incompetent morons all day-”

“I do enough with how often you play hooky like this.”

“-I swear they’re killing me with their stupidity,” Jack finishes, ignoring Timothy’s remark. 

When it doesn’t look like begging is going to get him anywhere, he rests his head on Timothy’s lap and drags his hands up and down the side of his thighs. It’s enough to get Timothy’s questioning gaze, and Jack would pat himself on the back if that wouldn’t ruin his chances.

He bites his lip teasingly and pushes his hands under Tim’s shirt, pushing it up as he moves his hands higher and then drags his nails over the sensitive skin of his sides. Timothy shudders under his touch and minutely spreads his legs just a bit wider - classical conditioning at its finest. Jack drags his tongue across the top row of his teeth, then leans forward and nips at Timothy’s pants, tugging lightly at the button.

Timothy’s brows furrow, and Jack can see the hesitation in his actions when he reaches forward to drag his hand through Jack’s hair. He can’t help but to _want_ from Jack, even if everything he knows about the man screams at him it’s a trap.

Honestly, listening to the voice would be a good idea.

“If you go in for me today,” Jack growls lowly in that tone he knows does it for Tim, grinning sharply at the hitch in his boyfriend’s breath, “I’ll blow you for every meeting you attend.”

Jack presses his face against Timothy’s clothed crotch to hide his grin.

There’s no way Timothy can resist-

The hand in his hair grips tightly, forcing is head back to meet Timothy’s narrowed-eyed look, “You _already_ owe me twelve blowjobs still from the last couple of weeks. So. No.”

Wait. Twelve!? That couldn’t be right. Okay, okay, maybe he owed him a couple still here and there but.

… Okay. Maybe. _**Maaaaaybe**_. Just Maybe Tim’s right, but that still sounds wrong.

Shit shit, but that takes away his bargaining chip! Aw, man, past Jack is an asshole. What the hell- _twelve_ blowjobs, seriously?

Timothy starts to push Jack away to stand up, but Jack grips his hips in a frantic way, pushing him back down against the couch. Well, Jack’s always been good at thinking on his feet - or with his dick - so this shouldn’t be an issue. Just - he needs a moment to think.

So he kisses Tim to distract him. Unfortunately, that also distracts _him_. But! Details!

“Jack, stop that!” Timothy scowls at him in that cute way that makes Jack just want to eat him out until he cries and - bad Jack. Bad.

Trying to think of a plan, not your boyfriend’s hot little ass.

“I’ll let you fuck me for two weeks!” It’s the first thing he can think of. It’s enough that Timothy pauses and blinks at him, scowl slowly dropping to something of confusion. Fuck it, run with the idea, “Anyway you want me. Anywhere. Two. Full. Weeks. _Anything_.”

Jack watches Timothy’s face closely, gaze darting from his eyes to his lips, throat, back to his eyes. He sees the way Timothy swallows slowly; Timothy’s thinking about it, weighing the pros and cons.

The moment Timothy agrees, Jack sees it before he rasps out, “Okay.”

Arms throw themselves around Tim’s neck, pulling him into a deep, appreciative kiss. Oh, Timothy is precious. He’s wonderful. Loving. Kind. Jack could go on, but hands over his ass distract him and he pulls away slowly, intent on reminding Tim he’s got to go in to work before he can just take from Jack.

That was the idea. The slow, easy smirk on Timothy’s face has the words dying on his lips before he opens his mouth. Jack knows that face - it’s Timothy’s winner look. When he just got Jack to agree to some… thing… he. Wanted.

Jack narrows his eyes on Timothy, but his boyfriend only gives him an adoring look and presses his lips against Jack’s ear, nipping his earlobe gently.

And then he’s growling in _that tone_ , “Hope you don’t have any plans for a while. Because I’ve got a list of things to try.”

He shudders partially from the tone, and partially out of slight fear. Jack loves Tim, he really does, but. Holy shit, Tim could be one kinky fucker when he wanted to be.

And Jack apparently just volunteered for two weeks of experimenting.

Oh.

Oh, _boy_.

Jack makes a mental note to have the first week after Tim’s play weeks be an easy one. With not a lot of sitting. 

Timothy grins so sweetly at him, hands massaging him through his jeans slowly. That look is not one that bodes well for Jack’s well. Or. Rather. His ass’s well-being.

Jack swallows thickly and presses his face against Timothy’s chest, breathing slowly.

Yeah. Definitely not a lot of sitting.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me on [tumblr](http://vulpining.tumblr.com/), too.


End file.
